The Weekend
by Miss Romance-Lover
Summary: Three-part Troyella AU. Troy Bolton is the wealthy businessman visiting his stuffy, self-righteous parents for the weekend. Gabriella is the new maid and not at all like those who have done the job before her.
1. Chapter 1

**I know it's been more than a year since I wrote for HSM, and I still have another incomplete story on the go, but for anyone who's interested, here's Part 1 of 3 of a new story...**

The Weekend

_Saturday_

With his overnight bag hanging over his shoulder, Troy Bolton pushed his fringe away from his face, his sunglasses sitting on top of his head as he locked his car door. In his business suit and tie, he knew he wasn't dressed suitably for spending the weekend with his family, but then chances were his father would greet him in an expensive suit of his own.

They were just _that_ kind of family.

Troy remembered once promising himself that he wouldn't become a snob in a suit. Somewhere along the line the dress-code became compulsory when he launched his own company, but he refused to let himself turn into his father.

When he got to the front door of his parents' house, he took a moment to psyche himself up before ringing the doorbell. Would it be the butler, or their new maid who answered the door? Pigs would sooner fly before a member of the family actually answered it themselves. Predictably this was also the case for the phone, cooking dinner and even making a drink.

As the door opened, Troy's practised smile grew more genuine at the sight before him. There had been countless maids working at the Bolton residence for as long as he could remember, and they had all been about the age of his grandmother. In fact, when he was small these women had often been in charge of looking after him as well as doing all the household chores.

The young woman who stepped aside to let him in now wasn't at all what he was expecting. She had long dark hair which was tied up into a high ponytail, beautiful olive-coloured skin, and big brown eyes that made him forget for a moment what it was he was doing here.

Her polite but questioning gaze soon snapped him out of it.

"I'm Troy," he smiled, dropping his bag at his feet and looking towards the sitting room behind her, where he found that no one else was around to greet him. And they had all known he was coming for weeks. "Troy Bolton. It's nice to meet you." He held out a hand, intending for a handshake, but her eyes had widened at his announcement.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't know! Can I get you any-"

"Nothing to be sorry for," he cut in kindly, gesturing around the room. "It's not as though my parents have lovingly decorated the place with pictures of me. How could you ever have known who I was?"

His tone had an undercurrent of bitterness in it, and he shook himself out of the familiar resentment to smile again at the poor girl who had the misfortune of listening to him. "Sorry, don't mind me."

"You must think me very rude, sir."

"Not at all. My mum and dad haven't even bothered to appear yet, and I called yesterday to tell them what time I'd be here. _They _are the definition of rude. So please don't worry. What's your name, by the way?"

She looked away suddenly. "I'm new...I'm just the maid."

Troy held out his hand again. "I know you work here," he said softly. "I still want to know your name, if that's okay?"

The woman looked at his face, then down at his outstretched hand and back again. It was another full minute before she offered out her own hand. "It's Gabriella."

"Gabriella," he repeated. "That's a beautiful name."

The dark-haired beauty stood transfixed, looking as though no one had been as kind to her in a long time.

"Troy!"

Their brief connection was broken at the sound of his mother's voice as she floated down the stairs, dressed in an outfit that gave the impression she was on her way out. But Troy considered that she probably wasn't.

"Hi, Mum. Where's Dad?"

"Oh, he's had to pop out for a meeting."

Of course he has, thought Troy. "What about Lisa?" he asked of his sister.

"Still away with Nicholas until the morning."

"Nicholas?"

Lucille Bolton sighed impatiently. "Her fiancé."

"I thought she was seeing Mike?" he replied, beyond confused despite having had several similar conversations over the years.

"Michael turned out to be less than suitable."

Troy glanced at Gabriella who was, apparently, waiting for further instructions from his mother. The young woman's mouth twitched the smallest amount, as if suppressing an urge to laugh. After encountering a lifetime of straight-faced and unaffected staff members, this newbie was like a breath of fresh air to him.

In fact he had to look away from her before he laughed out loud at his own mum's snobbery.

"Right," he managed with a smile. "Well anyway, I'll just take my bag upstairs, shall I?"

"Don't be silly, Troy," Lucille stopped him. "Isabella will do that."

Even though he knew full well who she was referring to, Troy made a point of looking around, as if looking for someone else who actually held that name. "Who's Isabella?"

"The new maid, of course." Somewhat rudely, his mother pointed directly at Gabriella, who stood obediently to attention. But he could see the humiliation in her eyes.

"Mum, her name is Gabriella."

Lucille gave him an odd look. "How do you know that? You've only just got here."

"Well, I did something a little bit 'out there'," Troy answered, patiently but with an edge of sarcasm. "I asked her what her name is."

"For goodness sake, Troy, just give your bag to the maid and let her get on with her job."

Troy bent down to reclaim his weekend luggage, shaking his head. "I can do it myself," he argued. Then he offered Gabriella a kind smile. "Really, it's fine."

And before his mother could insist, he walked the two flights of stairs up to his old, teenage bedroom. As expected, the room was yet again newly decorated. It looked like any other guest bedroom, because his parents weren't the type of people to keep all of their son's childhood posters and mementos in there. It wasn't this that bothered him; it was more the fact that the room didn't look homely or welcoming.

He may as well have checked into a hotel room.

Troy put his bag on the bed and unpacked some clothes. His father hadn't bothered to be here for his arrival, so he decided to change out of the suit after all. A casual t-shirt and jeans would do for the day.

Taking a deep breath, he ditched the sunglasses and wandered back downstairs to the lounge, sitting on the sofa. His mum seemed to have disappeared again, but the kitchen wasn't far away and he felt like a cup of coffee while he waited for someone to turn up.

Just as he was filling the kettle, Gabriella walked in, wearing an apron. She stood rooted to the spot when she realised he was there. Troy grinned. "Needed my caffeine fix," he said by way of an explanation.

She looked a little less anxious than before, but still offered to make the drink for him.

"Thank you, but there's really no need. Kettle's nearly boiled now." He turned away to look for the jar of instant coffee. "I'll just pour my coffee and then I'll get out of your way." As he spoke and rooted through the cupboards, it dawned on him that there was no sign of instant coffee. How had he never noticed this before?

"No one in this house drinks instant, do they?" he asked in a tone that told Gabriella he already knew the answer.

She shook her head, laughing now. He could see why. Of _course_ they didn't drink instant coffee. It suddenly occurred to Troy that until now, all of the Boltons' previous maids had been making his coffee for him every time he visited. In fact they had practically waited on him in the same way that they had done with the rest of the family. And he had let them. Probably because they had all been motherly-type figures; women who had generally spent much of their lives looking after people.

And yet today, because he had seen something in this young woman, something beyond what her job was, he couldn't bring himself to treat her as a maid.

Did that mean that until he had walked through that door, he had been just as stuck-up as his parents? He had a PA back in London; a lady who did his coffee-runs and the like, and until now Troy had never thought that the everyday tasks he gave her made him lazy and snobby. But maybe they did.

It wasn't as though he employed a maid or housekeeper in his own house, but then again he tended to live off takeaways and café-bought coffees.

Gabriella's voice broke through his thoughts. "The cafetiere," she offered, picking up some kind of contraption that had been next to the kettle.

"Café tee what?" he asked, baffled.

He watched as she found a pack of ground coffee beans and spooned some of it into the...well, whatever it was. She then poured the hot water from the kettle into it and slowly pushed down on the pump attached to the lid. Seamlessly, Gabriella poured the liquid into a china cup. Before she could ask, he took a pot of cream from the fridge and added just the right amount before taking a sip.

"I may have to ask you to train me on that thing before I go tomorrow," Troy announced, only half-joking. "Thank you for that. Are you not having one yourself?"

She gave him an odd look.

"Please tell me my parents don't stop you from taking breaks?" he said, concerned by her expression.

"Of course not!" she replied. "It's just that I'm supposed to start cooking for lunch now."

"Ah. Well, if you need any help..." he teased, mocking his complete lack of culinary skills. Gabriella looked at the floor somewhat shyly, but he could see her grinning.

Backing out of the kitchen, Troy turned around just as his mum reappeared. "Troy, what are you doing?"

He held up his freshly brewed cup. "Gabriella just made me a coffee."

"So then why were you in the kitchen?"

"Am I not supposed to go in there?" he asked flippantly.

Lucille sighed. "You're distracting the girl from her job."

Walking away, Troy muttered under his breath, "she has a name, Mum." Her behaviour was really starting to bother him. He distinctly remembered her referring to their last maid by her name. There had been Mrs Jones; and Mrs Hughes before that. Were those women more respected because they were older and married?

He reached the stairs just as the front door opened, and Jack Bolton appeared.

"Troy," the older man acknowledged. At this point Troy just nodded, he gave up attempting any more small talk after the last half an hour.

"Lunch will be in an hour, Jack," his mother informed her husband.

_How do you know?_ thought Troy. _You're not the one cooking it..._

The next hour was going to be a long one.

* * *

"So," Troy said, clearing his throat after a fairly quiet so-called family meal. "Happy birthday to me..."

His parents seemed to sit up a little straighter in their seats. He couldn't help but notice the stunned expression on Gabriella's face as she came through from the kitchen.

"Well," his father replied. "Quite." Apparently this was his way of acknowledging the occasion. "I've already transferred sufficient funds into your account. Call it an investment for the business if you like."

"Or I could just spend it all on beer," Troy said casually. Gabriella, who was now clearing away their plates, attempted to hide an amused smile.

Lucille didn't see the funny side. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was joking, Mum. Would you like some help with all that, Gabriella?" Standing up and taking his own empty plate from the table, he followed her back into the kitchen. Jack and Lucille Bolton were gaping at their son as though he had just sprouted a second head.

"I really don't need any help, thank you sir," the young woman replied quietly just as they reached the door.

"Please just rescue me," he pleaded in a whisper as he closed the door behind them. "And don't feel you have to call me sir. I get enough of that at the office. It's Troy, please."

She hesitated, two of the plates still balanced in her left hand. Then, finally, she nodded in agreement. He watched as she placed the crockery next to the sink, following her lead. When she had filled the sink up with hot water, he began a quick search for a tea-towel.

Holding it triumphantly while she washed the first plate, Troy chuckled when Gabriella turned to observe him.

"There's no polite way to put you off helping here, is there?" she asked pointedly.

"Not really," he twinkled.

"One of your parents is bound to come in and ask you what on earth you're doing."

"I know."

"Is it really your birthday today?"

Troy nodded. "Wouldn't know it, would you?"

They stood side by side quite companionably for several minutes, her washing, and him drying. Neither his mother or father entered the room, and he was glad for it.

When all was cleared away and tidy, Gabriella ran a hand through her ponytail, unable to look at him. "Thank you, Troy. And happy birthday."

Then she left the kitchen, leaving him to his thoughts. And to be honest, most of them were on the beautiful woman who had the incredibly bad fortune to be working for his parents.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I've had a few messages asking if I'd be finishing this story, and that motivated me to write this – I'm sorry it's been so long! Thank you for your comments. I realise that if you do decide to read this you'll be having to remind yourselves of part 1 because I wrote that SO long ago...after this there's still one final part to go. Thanks again guys!**

The Weekend – Part 2

_Saturday evening_

Troy was sitting back in the lounge, alone in his thoughts. He didn't know where his parents has disappeared off to and he didn't much care. He wondered what had possessed him to spend his birthday with them; but as Gabriella reappeared before him he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

"It's past seven," he noted with a frown. "I can't believe they've still got you working!"

The young maid smiled. "I just finished for the night," she explained. "I'm actually lodging here until I find myself a flat, but I'm on my way out to get some dinner. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Troy sat up, surprised about the living arrangements until he reminded himself that the previous maids had been married and so obviously had households of their own before taking the job. Then something else occurred to him. "Hang on – does that mean my mum and dad don't pay you? Are they taking all your rent out of what would be your wages?"

"Oh, no," she assured him. "I mean, my rent does come out of my pay but I still have some left over."

He was relieved for her, in a way that he knew was odd when he had known her for less than a day. "But they couldn't have invited you to eat with us, considering you cooked our lunch? That's...harsh. I'm sorry you have to put up with that."

Laughing, Gabriella shook her head. "It's not like my cooking skills are good enough to make me feel like I'm missing out," she joked.

"Well, _I_ enjoyed it. So where do you like to take yourself for dinner?"

"There's a pizza restaurant a couple of streets away. They know my order so well now that all I have to do is walk in and the manager tells the kitchen to get it started." She grinned at him. "Best pizza I've ever had, anywhere."

Troy raised an eyebrow. "The _best_, you say? Even better than Freddie's back in London?"

This earned him a smirk from Gabriella. "I've never tried his pizza, but I'd bet my favourite beats yours, yes."

"Hmm, this sounds like quite a risky bet. Would it be totally awkward of me to invite myself along and try the food myself?"

She looked at her feet. "Yes." Then, before he could backtrack, she raised her eyes to his and smiled. "But I think you should do it anyway."

His mood lifting completely, Troy picked up his jacket and followed her out of the house, fishing his car keys from his pocket as they walked. "In that case, let's take my car."

"It's really not that far, though," Gabriella protested. "There's no need."

He opened the passenger door and gestured for her to get in. "Please. It's already starting to get dark. Let's be lazy, shall we?"

With a laugh and a sigh, she got in the car and shut the door. Within five minutes she had directed him to her chosen destination for dinner. "Okay, 'Rocco's Pizza' – impress me!" he announced as they parked and wandered inside the restaurant. He sent his companion a playful grin to show he was simply playing along with their 'challenge', and was delighted as she raised an eyebrow as if daring Troy to suggest that the food wouldn't be up to scratch.

Gabriella made a beeline for the counter as there was no queue. The menu was on the wall above it. "So," she began, her voice suddenly taking on a more self-assured tone, Troy thought. "What are you having?"

He glanced at the list of options, then returned his gaze to her. "You know what? I'll eat pretty much anything on a pizza. Since you're trying to sell me on this place, how about you choose for me?"

She merely blinked at him. It took him a minute to realise why; she was used to being told what to do by her parents. The idea of her choosing his food _for_ him probably sounded like some kind of prank from her point of view.

"_Really_, I'd like you to choose for me," he assured her. "I don't have a favourite – you should see me back at home, I've actually had every kind of pizza known to man. Anything to avoid cooking."

This remark brought Gabriella back to herself. "You don't cook? What, not _at all_?"

Troy shook his head. Her genuine shock was evident. But before she could comment any further, a smiley man with greying hair and a moustache appeared behind the counter.

"Hey, Rocco," she greeted him warmly, and he called out a polite hello as well.

"Gabi! The usual, is it?" the older man asked with a knowing grin, and as she nodded at him the exchange made Troy feel glad to be there. There was something warm about the place, like being welcomed into a family environment, somehow. A world away from how it had felt to return to the Bolton family home.

"And this is Troy," Gabriella offered as Rocco looked on. "Can you do one of your specials for him?" She looked at the menu for a few seconds. "Let's go with...the meat feast. Thanks," she added as he disappeared off to deal with their orders.

"So, Rocco makes all the pizzas himself?" Troy asked, watching as the man headed straight for the kitchen.

"Not all of them," she replied with a smirk. "That would be impossible during their rush hours. But he does as much of the prep and the cooking as he possibly can. Saturdays around this time are perfect because the dinnertime rush is out of the way, and there's still hours left before the late night party-goers turn up to mob the place. You're guaranteed a quiet meal, and it's almost always Rocco making your pizza."

"You seem to know a lot about the business," he said, eyeing her curiously. Their heads snapped up as they heard Rocco call out to a younger guy working nearby, asking him to take their drinks orders while he made their meals.

"It's my second job," she explained casually, then turned to speak to the man approaching them. "How's it going, Marc? A lemonade for me please."

Marc looked to Troy with an expectant smile, and he barely thought about it before answering: "I'll have a coke, thanks."

When it was just the two of them again, and they'd found themselves a nearby table, he looked at Gabriella, stunned. "When on earth do you have the time to work a second job?"

"I'm off maid duties on Sundays, so I'm always here then." she told him. "And I do the odd evening shift too."

He considered this, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow. So you literally never get a day off?"

As their drinks were brought over, she took a sip of her lemonade and looked him in the eye, her voice deadpan."What's a day off?"

And Troy would have taken her seriously had their not been an amused sparkle in her eyes – the eyes he couldn't seem to look away from whenever their gazes locked.

"I don't know how you do it, Gabriella," he said, taking a long gulp of his own drink. "I couldn't keep doing what I do if I didn't have the weekend breaks to look forward to. Not that I hate what I do or anything; it's just a _little_ bit irritating and sometimes I wish I wasn't my own boss, that's all." He chuckled, knowing he sounded ridiculous. He was sure that this woman probably _longed_ to be her own boss, especially when the people she currently worked for (well, for six out of her seven day working week, anyway) were so cold and rude.

"I do it to earn enough money for university," she explained. "I decided I didn't want to start my course until I could afford to pay for it. At least for the first year. I'm not saddling myself with the debt!"

Troy smiled at her. "Very smart. What are you going to study?"

"Art and Design – but it's mainly the fashion design area that I'm interested in."

He looked at the passion in her eyes just at the mention of it and he could see it – he could picture her getting away from his mum and dad's house and doing what she really wanted, what she obviously loved, somewhere _else_. He could picture it because it was exactly what _he_ had done.

"It sounds much more interesting than my degree, anyway," he replied. "Business and Marketing. It's _every_ bit as boring as it sounds. Even for me, and I always wanted to run my own company."

Gabriella chuckled. "So what does your company do?"

"We're a chain of restaurants," Troy told her, biding his time with good reason.

She prompted him. "Specialising in..."

He spotted Rocco coming through with their food, waiting until he had set it down on their table and left them in peace before responding.

"Pizza," he said slyly, taking a bite of his meat feast special.

As she took the first bite of her usual char-grilled chicken and mushroom pizza, Gabriella stopped in her tracks. "You..." she exclaimed as she finished her first mouthful. "_You_ run pizza places?"

He shrugged sheepishly at his mild deception. "'Fredrico's'" he informed her, now grinning in amusement at it's similarity to Rocco's place. Suspicious of his game now, the woman sitting opposite him frowned at the name. "Seriously, that's what it's called," he promised her. "We thought it would give it an Italian edge."

"No, I've heard of it," she replied. "I just thought you were joking. You're the one that started Fredrico's? I mean, those restaurants are so popular!"

"And you don't think I'm believable as the brains behind that operation?" he asked, pretending to be offended.

She looked horrified. "Oh! I'm so sorry, of course you...I never meant to imply-"

"Hey," he interrupted, feeling bad. She looked stricken at his playful accusation. "Hey, I was just having fun with you, Gabriella. Don't worry."

She let out a long breath and managed a nod. "It's Gabi," she told him after a silence. "Call me Gabi."

"Okay, Gabi. So, anyway, I can understand why it sounds unlikely, me being associated with such a big chain. It's a good job I don't involve myself in the cooking."

Now that she understood his humour, she looked bemused. "Well, I was going to say! So what _do_ you involve yourself in?"

"The advertising," he replied. "The accounts, the managerial side – at least when it comes to organising staff wages and that kind of thing. I have an office in every restaurant from London to Liverpool, but I'm based in London. My best friend Freddie is the real talent behind the place. The menus and the dish choices are all his creations. He mainly sticks around in our London branch with me, but he'll head out to the others to check on the quality of the food if necessary."

Gabi's smile got wider as she listened. "So _he's_ Fredrico, then," she remarked.

"That's right. He makes the best pizza I've ever tasted – although actually I might have to rethink that title now I've tried Rocco's. This meat feast is amazing. Your friend here could put me out of business!"

"Don't tell him that – he'll be getting a big head," she giggled. "Anyway, it sounded a lot like you were admitting I was right, just then. About who's favourite pizza is better," she reminded him.

"Ah, well hang on," Troy backtracked. "I'll need to try every pizza on this menu before I make my decision."

"Then it's only fair I do the same with your friend's pizza," Gabi shot back.

He nodded. "I can't argue with that."

"_Freddie's_..."she shook her head at how casual he'd been over his favourite pizza back at the house. Of course, had she known he was really referring to the well-known chain of restaurants, she wouldn't have been so bold in her claim that Rocco's was the best.

They finished their food in a comfortable silence, both of them still amused at the conversation they'd just had. Gabi then got up to pay using her discount, and Troy insisted on giving her his half when she tried to shrug it off. He thanked Rocco and Marc for their service and walked with Gabi back to his car.

It was quiet when they got back to the house. And not just because there was still no sign of the older Boltons. Troy could feel a shift in the initial connection he'd felt between him and Gabi. It left him wanting to kiss her goodnight. Only how could he be thinking like that when he'd known her just a matter of hours?

This wasn't remotely the same as meeting a woman in a bar or a club and kissing her just for the hell of it; just because he'd had a few beers or because he craved the feeling of a woman's lips on his. This was about wanting to kiss this woman in front of him, because of who _she_ was. Because something was happening to him since meeting her that morning.

Either way, whatever he wanted, Troy _didn't_ kiss her. He stood awkwardly by the stairs, her folding her jacket over her free arm and smiling shyly at him.

"So...thanks, Troy," Gabi said finally, speaking in the quiet voice she'd started out with. "For the lift, and for the company. And happy birthday, again."

He smiled. "Thank _you _for your company. Andfor introducing me to Rocco's pizza. It's certainly the best time I've had while eating fast food."

"I should..." she trailed off, gesturing upstairs. "See you in the morning?"

Troy hoped he hadn't imagined the hope he heard in her voice. "Yeah, I'll be here. Goodnight, Gabi."

She wished him goodnight back, and as she made her way up the stairs he headed into his parents' kitchen to raid the fridge for beer. Or whatever alcoholic drink he could get his hands on.

At least this birthday hadn't been quite as bad as it had started out.


End file.
